Blood of Earth, Water, Wind and Fire
by Silverdawn89
Summary: Four girls. Four elements. Phoebe, Ella, Alana and Serena discover they have the power of the Elementals, able to wield the magic of nature. But how's a girl supposed to cope when all she wants is to pass her exams and fall in love?
1. The Beginning

"What the - Phoebe!? What on earth are you doing!?"

They were arguing again. Phoebe Ellis and Hermione Granger; the two greatest bickerers in Gryffindor, beside Hermione and Ron Weasley, that is.

Phoebe rolled her eyes. "Hermione," she said impatiently, "being Head Girl doesn't mean you can order everyone about."

Hermione blinked in surprise, then she recovered herself and glared.

"Well, excuse me," she said, in a voice laden with sarcasm. "I guess I'm letting all this power go to my head!"

"I guess you are," Phoebe said, in a bored voice, and turned back to labelling her star chart for Astronomy, ignoring Hermione completely. Hermione flounced out, offended.

"Phoebe," laughed Ella Rodriguez, "one day you're going to drive her insane, you know."

"I'm working on it," Phoebe muttered darkly. She stabbed so viciously that it punctured the parchment in front of her.

Ella's yellow-gold eyes danced in the firelight. "You've really got to control that temper of your, Phoebes," she admonished mockingly. "I thought poor Hermione was going to explode."

"She'd probably be more relaxed," Phoebe said viciously. "Stupid, uptight bitch."

Glancing up, Ella realised that Phoebe was more than a little pissed off with Hermione, right now. Lately the insults bouncing backwards and forwards between the two had become more intense, the tension more pronounced. It wasn't just Phoebe's fiery temper, it was Hermione's Little Miss Good Girl act that angered the red-headed Phoebe.

"Hey," Ella said soothingly, "she annoys everyone. Just ignore her; I don't know why you let her see that she's gotten to you."

"Yeah, and I don't know why Ron bothers with _her_."

"_Please_ don't tell me you like Ron Weasley."

"Not like _that_," Phoebe said loftily, tossing her long, red hair over her shoulders. There was a faint blush colouring her cheeks, though. "I just think it's a shame that someone so nice ended up with someone like Hermione Granger."

Ella watched, partly amused, partly envious of that long, red, wavy hair. What she wouldn't give to have hair like that. Her own hair was a dark, curly brown that bounced whenever she walked.

Phoebe's hair matched her temperament almost as good as Ginny Weasley's matched hers. Ella knew, though, that Phoebe could be as brave and as kind as everyone else, but her devil-may-care attitude often made people think she was just a callous bitch. Often, it was an accident. More often, she did it just to piss people off. Unbeknownst to everyone else, though, Phoebe did indeed fancy Ron Weasley rotten. But that was a secret she would take to the grave, because Ron was way too infatuated with Hermione.

Ella had been placed in Slytherin; her cunning and sharp wit secured her a place in the darkest of houses, and she was none too pleased about it. Though she didn't care much what other people thought of her, Ella just wished people would see beyond the Slytherin badge on her robes, to the person behind. Like that would ever happen, and besides, people were only friends with their own kind. At least she had Phoebe.

Then there was Serena Peterson, the typical Hufflepuff; blonde-haired, blue-eyed and so incredibly kind, she was almost a doormat. Almost, but not quite. If Serena believed in something, she'd fight, tooth and nail, for it. She'd been selected for Prefect because she was wonderful to the first years, and most other people knew they could ask her things without feeling stupid.

Alana Donahue, a Ravenclaw with porcelain skin, and eyes and hair as black as coal, was the cleverest of the four. Her logic was usually infallible, and when anyone argued with her, she could baffle them with just one sentence. Not that she was especially vindictive; she just thought arguments were pointless, and so usually tried to head people off before they could start.

Now, Ella turned to her own homework – a nasty essay on the composition, effects and Ministry classification of Veritaserum – and tried to concentrate on it. She couldn't, however, get a pair of bright green eyes from her mind, and it wasn't long before she realised she'd read the same sentence five times over. Frustrated, she put down her quill and ran a hand through her hair.

When Phoebe looked up, it was to find Ella frowning down at her parchment.

"What's wrong?" Phoebe asked her, her earlier annoyance with Hermione melting away.

"Hm? Oh, nothing ..." Ella sighed, and glanced out the window.

She'd only recently begun 'having feelings' – to coin a clichéd phrase – for Harry Potter, even though, in a fit of rationality, she'd remembered she was a Slytherin and that Harry – and everyone else, for that matter – despised her house. Tragic, really, that she couldn't go five minutes without thinking of him. No, not just tragic; practically _heartbreaking_. Yes, the dramatic adjective suited the occasion perfectly.

So when Harry and Ron walked into the Library – looking like they meant business – Ella jumped out of her seat as though she'd been burned, and left, without so much as a backward glance.

Completely baffled at her best friend's erratic behaviour, Phoebe turned to find Harry and Ron heading over to her.

"What is this, the Inquisition?" she asked, though it was hard to tell if she was joking or not.

"Not quite," Harry said grimly. "Have you said something to Hermione?"

"Oh," Phoebe grimaced, cursing Hermione's inability to keep anything to herself. "We got into an argument, that's all."

"Yeah, well," Ron began, "it's just that she's upset about something and we wondered if you had something to do with it."

It was funny, but Phoebe actually had to concentrate on what he was saying, rather than just gazing at his lips and wondering what they would feel like on her own. She shook her head to clear the thought.

"She kept bugging me," Phoebe shrugged. "I was trying to do my Astronomy star chart, and she kept telling me to help her with some third years. I mean, where does she get, off ordering me about like that?" she added irritably, her anger returning in a second.

Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged and looked back at Phoebe, turning clear, blue eyes to meet deep, brown ones, where they locked – just for a split second, and then quickly glanced away.

"Well, if that's all," Harry said, "we'll leave you to finish your homework. See you later, Phoebe," he added, standing up.

"Yeah, bye," Ron said, and he and Harry left.

If it wasn't for the fact that she couldn't stand Hermione, Phoebe would probably have apologised to her. As it was, there was a lot of tension in the air between them, and whenever they came face to face, Phoebe just wanted to hex Hermione into oblivion. Or punch her in the face; either way it was not conducive to establishing a friendly environment between them.

It wasn't just that Hermione was clever, and let everyone know it, or that she was generally an okay person – well, with anyone who wasn't Phoebe Ellis, that is – but the fact that she and Ron were going out seemed to eat a hole in Phoebe's stomach whenever she saw them together. It irritated her beyond belief, because she knew that, no matter how hard she tried, she'd never have Ron to herself.

Hermione had gotten there first, and there was nothing Phoebe could do about it.

With Phoebe in the Library, and Ella disappearing around the castle in order to avoid Harry, Serena found herself alone, with an hour of Transfiguration notes stretching out infinitely in front of her.

Eventually, she decided to sit outside; it was a nice day and it would be peaceful just to sit by the lake – even if she _was_ going over human transfiguration.

Unfortunately for Serena, sitting by the lake proved to be a monumentally bad idea.

There were a gang of Slytherins messing about, ten feet from where she sat. They didn't notice her sat there, thankfully, and Serena was able to enjoy twenty minutes of blissful peace.

Eventually, someone sauntered over to her spot, their shadow falling over her.

"What are _you_ doing here?" a voice said haughtily.

Serena looked up and rolled her eyes.

It was Draco Malfoy, a sneering, smirking blond from Slytherin. Serena had always thought Malfoy to be a total prat, and on the few times that she'd had the misfortune to come across him, she'd been proved right. Malfoy hated everyone but his own reflection, and he was so convinced of superiority. So obviously, fate has seen fit to make him gorgeous. The irony of it made Serena wonder what chance nice people like her had against people like Malfoy.

"Last time I checked," Serena said, not even bothering to look at him, "that was none of your business."

"Last time I checked, you were a stinking Mudblood," Malfoy sneered. "Oh, look at that – you are!"

His friends laughed loudly, as though their ringleader had said something extremely witty. Serena couldn't see what was so funny, except that Pansy Parkinson had a loud, braying, horse-laugh.

"Malfoy," Serena said, annoyed, "do all these clever insults help disguise the fact that you're so _lacking_ in other areas?"

Malfoy's pale face took on a faint, pink tinge in anger. He tried his usual sneer, but didn't quite manage it, owing to the fact that a grimace of rage was already in place.

"I think," he stated venomously, "you're forgetting to whom you are speaking."

Serena stared at him in disbelief; she knew the Malfoys were an old family, but honestly, who talked like that anymore? Just because Malfoy was an arrogant prat didn't mean he had the right to speak to _her_ like that.

"Oh Malfoy, I know _exactly_ who I'm talking to," she said pleasantly. "A condescending, little ferret, hiding behind his big, bad name."

And she stood up, stalking away from the stunned group by the lake, her heart pounding loudly in her ears with anger.

Once she was in the Entrance Hall, she stopped and leant against the wall. Why did people pick on her because she was Muggle-born? It wasn't like she'd asked for it. She took a trembling breath. She was so angry she was shaking. If Malfoy followed her in here and saw her shuddering like this, he'd probably think she was scared of him, and that was _so_ far from the truth … She shook herself to get him out of her system.

So she had no excuse when his face kept popping up in her head.

It was funny, really, how one could become so fixated on something that they were hardly aware of their surroundings.

Alana, sitting in the Quidditch stands, and watching the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice, realised she'd barely registered a thing, except that Oliver Wood, the new Quidditch coach and referee, looked damn good on a broomstick.

Seeing a few other people staring at her oddly, Alana went back to reading her book. It was an interesting story about a young witch on the trail of her father's murderer, while time ran out for her brother, an ex-Auror whose enemies were out for vengeance. _"A fast-paced, exciting read,"_ an excerpt on the back cover stated. Well, it might be, but Alana couldn't concentrate much, for reasons that were becoming clearer to her by the second.

It wasn't long before the Quidditch practice ended, and Alana heaved a sigh of relief. Her boyfriend, Damien Church, played Chaser on the Ravenclaw team, and he was a sports fanatic, to say the least. So usually, Alana attended their practices for moral support, and because it was hard to resist Damien's big, hazel eyes when he turned them on her.

She picked her bag up, stuffed the book inside it, and heaved it onto her shoulder, thinking of the Charms essay that was still waiting for her up in her dormitory. She began planning the first paragraph in her head while leaving the Quidditch stands.

As she passed the broom shed, a voice behind her said, "Hi, Alana. Damien keeping you in the stands again?"

Alana whirled around quickly, coming face to face with Oliver Wood. After being seriously injured playing for Puddlemere United, his dreams of playing big-time Quidditch had come crashing down. So, to console himself, and to keep him in the wizarding sport circles, he'd applied for the job of referee at Hogwarts. And currently, he was the source of Alana's awkwardness.

"Oh, hello, Professor," she said, looking down at her hands. If she looked up, it would be into his eyes, and they were brown. Alana had a thing for people with brown eyes.

"That makes me feel ancient," Oliver laughed ruefully. "Call me Oliver."

"I didn't think it was common practice to call teachers by their first names," Alana said, glancing up and catching Those Eyes on her.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm a teacher. Would you?"

"You're still part of Hogwarts staff."

"So is Filch, but you wouldn't call him Professor," Oliver countered good-naturedly.

"Alright, _Oliver_," Alana said at last. "Is that better, sir?

"Much," Oliver said, a faint smile quirking his lips.

Alana remembered that smile, even as she said goodbye and went back up her dormitory, even as she started her Charms assignment, and even as she sat down to dinner, staring up at the High Table and watching the smile in action.

When Damien kissed her after practice, she was thinking of Oliver. Her boyfriend seemed to notice something was up, and he pulled away, a frown creasing his forehead.

"What's wrong?" he asked, tenderly smoothing an errant strand of black hair from Alana's eyes.

"Oh, nothing," Alana said, giving him a reassuring smile. "Just thinking about homework."

Damien shook his head, almost exasperated. He knew how important homework and good grades were to his girlfriend – she was a Ravenclaw to the last, after all – but he wished she wouldn't think about it while they were kissing. It was sort of insulting that she thought about school stuff when they were together.

Alana worried how easily that lie had spilled from her tongue; she was never usually such an adept liar, but it seemed her talents were branching out this year, to say the least. And it always had something to do with Oliver, whenever she lied to someone.

That didn't worry her half as much as it should have done.

Ella was currently having a major headache.

_Merlin_, she thought despairingly, _what must Phoebe have thought about me rushing off like that? What must **Harry** have thought?_

It figured that she'd end up fancying Harry Potter, of all people, just as much as it figured that she'd be the only Slytherin who'd want to tolerate him. Why on earth Phoebe couldn't have fallen for him, Ella would never know, but that just seemed to be the vein her life was going lately. Down the toilet with spectacular sound effects.

_Relax_. Her rational side took over, and she felt her panic melting away. _You'll explode if you don't relax, and then everyone would know something was wrong after all._ And after she put on such a good show for her housemates, too.

Only seconds later, she heard a voice in her ear. For a second she thought it was the voice in her head – formerly known as a conscience, but she was a Slytherin, and they couldn't _possibly_ have a thing called a conscience. Then she realised no voice in her head had ever sounded so soothing and laced with an undertone that made Ella shiver with anticipation.

"You're blocking the corridor," Harry said, eyeing her oddly.

"I know," Ella said, automatically regaining her haughty exterior. Slytherins were always composed, no matter what the interior was going through.

"Mind moving?" Harry said stiffly.

"I suppose I'll have to."

She stepped backwards, just as a gang of third-years left the Great Hall. She and Harry were separated for a few seconds, until the younger students had passed by.

"I cause havoc so effectively, don't you think?" Ella asked, not wanting to leave. She tried a smile, and was relieved when Harry seemed to relax as she did so.

"Some people have a knack for it," he nodded. "Guess we have something in common."

"Shock, horror! A Slytherin and a Gryffindor have something in common. What next, I wonder?"

"Maybe the sky will fall, and hell will freeze over."

"Must you be so dramatic?" Ella laughed. She was enjoying this conversation, and revelling in the fact that she'd made Harry smile, however slightly.

"Of course. It keeps things interesting, you know." Harry watched her laugh, admiring the way her yellow-gold eyes twinkled, and her delighted smile, and her pretty, coffee-coloured skin, and the flush of freckles across her nose …

She noticed him staring, but refrained from pointing it out. After all, if his attention was diverted, that gave her a chance to study him without him noticing.

Harry's eyes were really the most noticeable thing about him. His scar was intriguing, yes, but his eyes seemed to catch you and pull you in, even behind his glasses. And his hair, standing up in all directions, was just waiting to have her fingers run through it.

"I know what you mean," Ella said eventually, figuring the silence had gone on long enough. "What's life, if not interesting?"

"I have to …" Harry began, trailing off when he had no idea what he was going to say. "Homework. Essays, and stuff."

"Yes, I am aware what homework is," Ella smirked. If she wasn't much mistaken, she wasn't the only one who had trouble getting coherent sentences out.

"Right. Well … see you later." Harry flushed slightly, gave her a goodbye wave, and left.

Leaving Ella very much disappointed in his wake.

Draco was still in his Quidditch robes; he was sitting in the Slytherin common room, musing about the Hufflepuff girl he'd challenged earlier, and he hadn't had a chance to change into his school robes yet.

He had thought that picking on a lone Hufflepuff was the perfect distraction from his housemates' questions. They kept asking him why he hadn't gone home for the holidays, why he was so quiet all of a sudden, why he didn't seem interested in anything remotely Death Eater-related. So fobbing them off with silly excuses and diversions had, naturally, been the only way out.

And the Hufflepuff girl was just _there_, he thought. _What else could I do?_

He felt slightly guilty for contesting the girl; after all, she had only been sitting by the lake, enjoying the sun and going through notes, or something. But his own selfish needs far outweighed the twinges of his conscience, so he had to admit that it was the perfect distraction.

The girl had been pretty, in an innocent sort of way – golden hair, dark blue eyes that shone fiercely when Draco had argued with her, lightly tanned skin, enhanced even more by the yellow sunlight – and he'd originally thought that picking on such an easy target was sure to bore him and his fellow Slytherins.

How wrong he had been.

Whatever her name was, the girl was a pretty forceful personality, striking blows in Draco's ego that affected him more than they should have. He was insulted at her suggestions – as though he, a Malfoy, was lacking in _anything!_

But she was a filthy Mudblood, Draco remembered quickly. Why should he care what she thought of him, even if some of what she'd said had struck home, somewhat?

She'd pay for her smart remarks, Draco decided, glowering at the fire in the hearth. She'd pay dearly.

Ron wondered how he and Hermione could have grown so far apart in so short a time. It seemed like only days since they'd gotten together, yet they'd had their latest argument just ten minutes ago. It was such a stupid thing to fight about, too, and that made Ron all the more ashamed of the things he'd said.

Things had changed indefinitely, and he didn't know what was worse; finding out that he no longer loved Hermione, or that he was already starting to think about somebody else.

He couldn't help it, though; Phoebe wasn't exactly the opposite of Hermione, though she was a lot less even-tempered and not quite as ambitious as Hermione was. But there was something so refreshingly different about Phoebe, that Ron couldn't help being drawn to her.

Hermione was going to kill him if she found out that he liked someone else. Although … well, she had been writing novel-length letters to Viktor Krum, and even though she said it was all one-sided, Ron wondered if this was the whole truth, and nothing but.

And even if it wasn't, what would happen then?


	2. A Day Like Every Other Mostly

**Chapter 2**

**A Day Like Any Other - Mostly**

Well, her homework was all finished, and it was a Sunday evening, so there was nothing left to do but relax. Phoebe was looking forward to it immensely.

Madame Pince watched her like a hawk as she left the Library, but Phoebe barely noticed. She was so deep in thought that she didn't realise she'd reached Gryffindor tower, until she arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

Rather than sit in the common room, doing nothing, Phoebe decided she'd prefer to look for Ella, and talk with her instead. It wasn't that she didn't like her housemates; she just didn't want to see Hermione and Ron together.

She found Ella in the girl's toilets, smiling vaguely into the mirror at herself.

"Mirror, mirror …" Phoebe laughed. Ella jumped and whirled around.

"Phoebe!" she said, almost wailing. "You scared me!"

"If you weren't so absorbed in your reflection," Phoebe teased gently, "you'd have seen me come in."

"I was not!" Ella said indignantly. "I'll have you know, I was just … thinking."

"Oh, really?" Phoebe pretended she didn't know who her best friend had been thinking about. It was painfully obvious that Ella fancied Harry, anyone could see that.

"Don't look at me like that, Phoebes," Ella said, blushing. "I know what you're thinking – and I don't fancy Potter!"

"Whatever you say, El."

They left the toilets, Ella still protesting that she did not have the most gigantic crush on Harry, and Phoebe still proclaiming that she did.

She went to bed that night, thinking – as always – about Ron. She actually sickened herself at times like these; when she dreamt hundreds of different scenarios, all ending with a passionate kiss, and Hermione weeping in the background. How could she be so happy about making someone cry, even in her dreams?

But then, she and Hermione were rivals – saddening that it had come to such rivalry, even though they were in the same house – and Phoebe couldn't imagine anything more satisfying than stealing Ron away from Hermione.

Phoebe awoke on Monday morning, rolled over in her bed and glared at the shaft of sunlight shining into her eyes. Unfortunately, it promised to be another glorious day, but Phoebe was in no mood to celebrate.

Hermione passed her on the way into the bathroom, and they glowered at each other, before Phoebe turned around and went down to the common room.

At breakfast, she noticed Ron and Hermione speaking in low, hushed voices, and gesticulating wildly. They both wore frowns that bordered on scowls, and Phoebe was happy to note that they seemed to be arguing.

_Ha,_ she thought viciously,_ the Golden Couple are finally hitting a rough patch. It's about time._

She buttered her toast with renewed vigour after that, sneaking satisfied glances at Ron and Hermione – who still seemed to be arguing in full flow – and by the time Phoebe reached Transfiguration, she was in a better mood than she had been all week.

She sat at the desk next to Alana in McGonagall's class. Being a typical Ravenclaw, Alana just seemed to _get_ what the professor was saying, whereas it took Phoebe a couple of explanations and demonstrations to figure out what they were talking about. Today was no exception

They were going over human transfiguration again, and Phoebe was heartily sick of it all. Not just the incessant gibberish that McGonagall seemed to be speaking, but the way Hermione kept bouncing up and down in her seat, clearly trying to answer as many questions as possible in the one lesson. It made Phoebe want to vomit.

She settled, instead, for glaring at the back of Hermione's bushy, brown head. Once she was feeling marginally better – after she'd copied the diagrams from Alana, that is – she remembered Ron and Hermione's fight earlier this morning.

It brought an inexplicable smile to her face. Alana noticed, but tactfully said nothing. She knew exactly how Phoebe felt about Ron, and was somewhat amused by it all.

It was only lunchtime, when Phoebe found herself walking a little way behind Ron and Hermione in the corridor. They were arguing much more heatedly now, and Phoebe couldn't help but eavesdrop.

"Ron, please don't be difficult," Hermione was saying, as though speaking to a recalcitrant child. Phoebe's lip curled with disgust.

"And why shouldn't I be?" Ron asked obstinately. "This isn't exactly how I pictured spending my lunch hour."

"You're acting like a five-year-old," Hermione said impatiently. "If you would just listen –"

"Hermione, why don't you just come out and say it?" Ron's voice was suddenly tired. Phoebe frowned and kept following them.

"Say what?"

"That you're breaking up with me so you can go out with Krum," Ron said, and there was an edge of bitterness in his voice that Phoebe had rarely heard before.

"Ron, I don't know what –" Hermione began, but her tone was guilty.

"Don't insult me by pretending you don't know what I'm talking about," Ron interrupted. "Just admit it; you want to go out with Krum, and you're breaking up with me."

There was a long silence, though Phoebe thought that Ron and Hermione were both taking the chance to mull things over.

"Alright, I am," Hermione said coolly. "So what?"

"So these past few months were a waste of time?" Ron burst out, barely controlling his anger.

"It would seem so. I _am_ sorry, Ron," Hermione said suddenly. "Honestly, I am. If – if there was any other way …"

Phoebe rolled her eyes; Hermione was breaking up with Ron for that duck-footed, moody git, and here she was saying that she was sorry. As if.

"Don't give me that bloody rubbish!" Ron snapped. "I'm not stupid!"

"Well you're doing an excellent job of it!" Hermione shouted, and the heavy sound of footsteps coming her way made Phoebe jump back into the shadows. Hermione came stomping up the corridor, her face set with anger and pain. Phoebe chanced a quick look down the hallway.

Ron was still standing where Hermione had presumably left him. He stared at the ground for a few minutes, his expression never changing. Then he ran a hand through his flaming hair, sighing heavily, and began to follow the way Hermione had just come.

Once again, Phoebe pressed her back to the wall in order to avoid being found. Ron passed by without seeing her, and when he'd gone, Phoebe let out her breath.

Ron and Hermione had broken up. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger were no longer going out. Something jolted in her stomach at the words, and she smiled.

Today wasn't such a waste after all.

center /center 

A school barn owl dropped the letter onto the Hufflepuff table, at breakfast.

Serena stared at it. Her parents were Muggles and wouldn't know to send her a letter by owl post. Her friends wouldn't write to her to tell her something; they'd tell her themselves.

So who had sent this letter?

Intrigued, she picked the envelope up, noticing the unfamiliar, spiky handwriting on the front, and tore it open. A single sheet of parchment fell out, and Serena looked at it eagerly.

_Astronomy tower. Midnight._

That was it. That was all it said.

Puzzled, Serena turned it over, but the other side was blank.

At that moment, Hannah Abbott, a fellow Hufflepuff, dropped into the seat next to her. Hannah pulled a plate of toast forward and began to butter a couple of slices, before she realised Serena was still staring at the piece of parchment in her hands.

"What's up?" Hannah asked curiously. A frown was smudging Serena's forehead.

"This," Serena murmured, passing the parchment over. "I just got it, this morning."

"Who sent it?" Hannah said, reading it.

"I have no idea."

"Hmm, seems a bit dodgy to me." Hannah pursed her lips and passed the note back. She picked her knife up again and resumed buttering her toast. "You do know why people meet up at the Astronomy Tower, don't you?" she asked suddenly, glancing up.

"Of course," Serena said, rolling her eyes. "Late-night snogging."

"And the rest," Hannah laughed. "So, whoever sent you this –" she indicated the note, lying on the table "- wants to do more than talk about constellations."

They laughed, and went on with breakfast. Halfway through a bowl of porridge, Serena picked the note up again, and looked at it thoughtfully.

"D'you think I should go, Hannah?" she asked slowly.

"That's up to you; but if you're going to, just be careful." A typical Hannah answer; honest but ambiguous.

"I just want to know who could have sent it," Serena shrugged. "You don't recognise the handwriting, do you?"

Hannah glanced at the parchment again. Then she shook her head. "No, though I don't think it's anyone from Hufflepuff."

"How d'you figure that one?"

"Well, I would imagine it's another seventh year," Hannah said slowly. "And a boy, of course. I've seen Ernie's and everyone's writing," she added, "and this doesn't look like any of theirs."

"I'm relieved, for some reason," Serena chuckled dryly. "I think most of the Hufflepuff boys are taken, anyway." She gave Hannah a significant look.

"Well, if it turns out to be Ernie, Justin or Zach, they'll soon regret it."

Serena walked to Arithmancy soon after breakfast; she let her eyes wander over the boys in her class. Had any of them sent the letter? Could it have been Terry Boot, from Ravenclaw? Or his friend, Anthony Goldstein? What about Dean Thomas, the only Gryffindor male in this class? Serena's gaze shifted from Dean to the boy at the next desk.

_Malfoy,_ she thought venomously. Well, at least she could be sure it wasn't Malfoy. He wouldn't come near a _Mudblood_ like her. Good thing, then, because she didn't want him to.

Though he was quite good-looking, she reasoned. All the girls in her house said so. It was just a shame he was so arrogant and self-obsessed, because he was a pretty good example of the human race. Such was the irony of life.

Serena shook her head to clear _that _particular thought. It was pointless discussing Draco Malfoy's merits, because his flaws always outweighed them.

She decided, later that day, that her curiosity was getting the better of her. She would go to the Astronomy Tower tonight, simply to find out who had sent her the letter. And if she liked whoever it was, she might stay awhile.

center /center 

For once, she wasn't sitting in the Quidditch stands when Oliver found her. No, Alana was walking from Ancient Runes, when she rushed headlong into the Quidditch coach.

"Oh, sorry!" she said swiftly. "I didn't see you."

"No, I seem to keep sneaking up on you, don't I?" Oliver said amusedly.

"Are you stalking me, Prof –" She broke off when he raised his eyebrows expectantly. "– Oliver?"

"I'm sure that position has already been filled." The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. Alana blushed.

"Have you seen Stephen?" Oliver asked a moment later. "Practice has been scheduled to Saturday now, instead of Friday."

"No, but I can tell him, if you want?"

"That'd save me a job. I suppose he'll leave you in the stands again, won't he?" Oliver eyed her sympathetically. "It's not easy dating a Quidditch nut."

"Mm," Alana said noncommittally. "He's not all bad," she smiled.

"No, he's a good kid. I just don't think he –" He stopped suddenly, as though on the verge of saying something he wanted to keep to himself. "Well, see you later, Alana."

And he walked off without another word.

_What was all that about?_ Alana wondered, mystified. She felt oddly abandoned, too, as though he'd just dismissed her.

Rather than dwell on it, she went to the Ravenclaw common room and found Stephen already there, chatting to a couple of his friends. Alana went over to him, slipped an arm around his waist and kissed him gently.

He glanced at her surprised. "What was that in aid of?" he asked, a smile unfurling on his mouth.

"Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say hello."

"Well, hello to you, too." And he planted a kiss on her lips in return.

"By the way," Alana said, a few minutes later. "Quidditch practice is on Saturday now."

"Is it?" Stephen looked at her, surprised. "Who told you that?"

"Oliver." Seeing her boyfriend's blank look, she said, "Professor Wood."

"Since when have you been on first-name terms with a teacher?" Stephen said, eyes narrowed.

"Oh, don't be so suspicious," Alana said playfully, covering her mistake. "I'm not going to run off into the sunset with him."

Though she had to admit, that did sound like an extremely tempting idea.

center /center 

Ella sighed and pushed the strap of her bag back onto her shoulder. Harry was only a few feet away, chatting with Hermione, though they were noticeably without Ron.

She'd welcome any excuse to talk to Harry right now, so much so, that she thought about going up to talk to him outright. She could imagine the look on Hermione's face when a Slytherin willingly started a conversation with Harry. It also made her think what Phoebe would say about being in the same vicinity as Hermione Granger. She chuckled softly to herself.

Still, it was nearly time for break and she had to go and collect her Potions stuff, and _then_ she was planning on catching up with Serena about their Herbology homework. Break wasn't long enough to do those things and chat with Harry, unfortunately, and she had to prioritise. Though Harry was pretty high up on the list of important things.

She strode down the hallway, her eyes catching Harry's almost automatically. He gave her an acknowledging smile, and Ella practically skipped back to her dormitory.

Seemed like it wasn't such a bad day after all.

center /center 

Of course he'd known Ella was there. He'd known all along. Ignoring her was pretty hard, actually, now that Harry thought about it.

Ron was nowhere in sight, and Harry was curious about that. Hermione didn't seem to know, or care, but then, she'd been babbling about something or other for the past five minutes. Harry hadn't been able to get a word in edgeways.

"– and then I said 'You're doing an excellent job of it!' and I walked away."

Hermione's voice finally pierced his thoughts. He blinked down at her – he'd grown much taller this term, and now he was a good foot bigger than her – and wondered for a second what she was talking about.

"What?" he asked eventually, not sure he was getting the whole picture.

"Honestly, Harry!" Hermione sighed impatiently. "Haven't you been listening?"

"Er ..." Harry said guiltily.

Hermione gave him a reproachful look. "I was talking about breaking up with Ron. It happened earlier."

"You did _what?_" Harry burst out, astonished.

"We broke up. We've argued so many times these past few weeks, it's pointless trying to keep a relationship going." She sighed, "It's just too stressful."

"So … how are you doing?" Harry asked cautiously, in case she was about to start crying on him, or something.

"Oh, I'm fine," she said airily, waving a hand casually. "And I'm sure Ron's alright too. Where is he, anyway?"

"Dunno. I haven't seen him since Transfiguration."

"I'm sure he'll tell you all about it soon. I'll see you later, Harry; I've got to send a letter to Viktor."

Hermione gave him a happy little wave, and walked in the direction of the Owlery. The way she'd slipped Krum's name into the conversation made Harry sure that his best friends had split up because of the Bulgarian Seeker.

_I wonder how Ron's doing_, he mused. _I'd better go find him._

He found Ron sitting motionless on one of the couches in Gryffindor tower.

"Alright, mate?" he said carefully.

Ron seemed amused by his cautious behaviour. He smiled slightly and said, "Yeah. Hermione tell you about us breaking up?"

"Erm, yeah. You doing alright?"

"I'm fine," Ron shrugged. "Had to happen sometime, right? We did argue a lot …"

"I know. You both seem okay with it …"

"I'm not doing to badly. I think –" Ron broke off quickly, embarrassed.

"What?" Harry asked curiously.

"Well … I think I kind of – like someone else …"

"Oh." Harry blinked. "Oh, I see. Well … you move fast," he remarked dryly. "But if that's what you want … who is it?"

Ron sighed rather heavily. "The thing is, Harry," he said quietly, "you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

center /center 

Draco had to stop from congratulating himself out loud. The Hufflepuff girl from earlier had received his letter – the one telling her to meet him at the Astronomy Tower at midnight – and she was curious, that much he could tell from her puzzled frowns this morning at breakfast. He didn't, however, have any intentions of going to the Tower tonight; his plan was to inform Filch that someone would be out of bed after-hours tonight, up in the Tower. The caretaker would catch the stupid Hufflepuff.

It was petty, childish revenge, but it distracted Draco from Blaise's increasingly suspicious interrogations, and Pansy's bouts of anxiety on his behalf.

"What's gotten into you?" she'd asked, earlier that morning. "You don't talk to us anymore, and you didn't even help us deal with Potter and his groupies, the other day!"

To which Draco had drawn himself up dignifiedly and said, "Everybody has to grow up sometime, Pansy."

Blaise, who had been watching him with silent distrust, suddenly spoke up. "And how grown up you've become, Draco!" he said, smirking unpleasantly. "One would think you're turning your back on us."

"Who told you that rubbish?" Draco spat, his arrogance covering the truth, as usual. "You think because I'm not making Potter's life a living hell, I'm turning on you?"

"It certainly seems that way," Daphne Greengrass said from over by the fire. She gave Draco a level glance, "When you're not around, people talk."

"You're a bunch of suspicious bastards, aren't you?" Draco said, half-admiring, half-exasperated.

They gave him amused smirks, and the matter was dropped. Draco found himself in some state of relief or another these days, coupled with increasing annoyance that his apathy was being questioned non-stop. Why couldn't anyone just let him be? He needed a break, and maybe – just maybe – that Hufflepuff girl could provide it.

Perhaps he would go to the Tower tonight, because seeing someone get into trouble as a result of one of his own schemes always cheered him up.


End file.
